


waver

by ndnickerson



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Intoxication, Missing Scene, Past Relationship(s), Telepathic Bond, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from The Naked Now. Riker decides to personally make sure Deanna receives her dose of the cure. Things just get a little off-track after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	waver

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XIV amnesty - prompts: Imzadi, telepathic sex.

Riker looked down at the hypospray in his fidgeting hand, the base tapping gently against his thigh as the turbolift whisked him on his way. He blinked. The light set near the controls pulsed as he traveled.

He was... He was going somewhere. The sense of urgency, of needing to get somewhere quickly—that lingered, even if he couldn't quite remember why, or what he was supposed to do. He didn't usually carry a hypospray, though. Did he?

The turbolift purred to a gentle stop, the doors parting, and Riker obediently walked through them. He was relieved to recognize his destination; he was still trying to mentally orient himself on his new ship, but this stretch of corridor was quite familiar. A pretty blonde ensign who looked barely old enough to be a day out of the Academy walked by him and down the hallway giggling, her arm linked through that of a tall lieutenant jay-gee in a blue science uniform. Her hair was disheveled, as was his uniform.

He thought, fleetingly, of reprimanding the pair of them—but it hardly seemed worth it. Their expressions were happy. And who was he to interfere with that?

Especially when the deck kept moving unexpectedly under his feet.

The shipboard comms came to life, and he heard an authoritative voice saying that he should remain calm—that sounded like good advice. There was more to the message, but two giggling crew members ran down the hallway blowing some loud rudimentary musical instruments he would have called obnoxious-sounding in a less charitable mood. Still, their laughter was contagious. He felt _good_.

But the hallway was too warm. Riker reached up and tugged impatiently at his collar.

Once that din had died down, the simultaneously stern and soothing voice had finished delivering its message, and Riker felt something in his hand. He glanced down.

Hypospray. Why did he have a hypospray? Why was he...

His steps slowed to a stop, and slowly he brought his head up, looking at the portal to his left. The door to a command-level officer's cabin; his own was just down the hall.

 _Her_ cabin.

Riker blinked for a long moment, then jerked his eyes open. Bad idea. Right? Bad idea. Bad idea for him to know where her cabin was, but then he couldn't unlearn it, and besides it didn't really matter; he would have known _she_ was inside anyway.

"Come," he heard her voice faintly before he had even finished raising his hand to press the door chime, before he had even realized he was reaching for it. The door slid open, responding to the occupant's voice. The interior was dark; the lights were low. Through the large windows, the view was awash with pinprick stars, the occasional chunk of debris floating by. He saw a few bouncing off the reflective shields always surrounding the _Enterprise_ , the shields which kept the ship from looking like a battle-scarred wreck after the first warp flight. He stood fascinated by it for a moment, the rectangle of light from the hallway at his feet, his shadow framed by it.

He had been in Starfleet for years now; the sight of the stars had lost a good deal of its novelty. He didn't usually feel this way unless he was...

"Mmm," Riker mumbled to himself, plodding forward a few steps. Strange, that his inebriation didn't seem to wane even though he wasn't drinking now. The door closed behind him. The dim interior pulsed with smoky purples and greys as his vision cleared.

The bath.

A typical officer's cabin was a bit larger than the typical crewman's, but they were all outfitted with the standard furnishings and appliances. Replicator, integrated PADD desk, bed, storage. Sonic shower. The accommodations were modified based on species and personal preference. Replicators were programmed with favorite recipes; Riker had requested a cold storage container to "transport local delicacies," since "wet-bar facilities" wasn't an option on the form. Synthehol was a poor substitute for the real thing, and Starfleet frowned upon possession of anything causing genuine intoxication that wasn't intended for religious or cultural observance.

And Deanna's quarters were modified too. At first he didn't understand what he was hearing; he cocked his head, taking a few slow steps toward the sound. His fingers were slick with perspiration around the hypospray, so he put it down on the obsidian desk and used those same damp fingers to jerk at his uniform collar. Why the hell was the ship so damn hot? He would need to return to his quarters to change soon.

The bathroom door was open, and what he heard was water. Real rushing water. In the first days of rudimentary spaceflight, such a frivolous, luxurious waste of finite water stores would have meant death; but then, there had been no artificial gravity, no real luxuries of any kind, and those first astronauts had spent more of their trips into the great unknown trying to keep from dying than exploring the mysteries of their universe.

Rushing water.

Riker opened his mouth and instead of the thought reaching completion, making the jump between his mind and his lips, she intercepted it with a projection that was less verbal, more directive. His feet were moving before he had willed them to, responding to her desire.

And that was dangerous. The two of them both serving aboard the same ship was dangerous. Being in her quarters was...

She stood at the edge of the bathtub, gazing down at the water, her dark hair falling in a mass of curls down her back. Her luminous skin gleamed faintly with perspiration. She wore a robe, her fist holding the garment closed.

Then she turned back, looking at him over her shoulder, and those dark, infinitely deep eyes met Riker's.

_Bill. Bill..._

She was overwhelmed. Deanna Troi, who once upon a time had been the most tightly-controlled, most poker-faced individual he had ever known, who had nearly perfect control over her own emotions and desires and empathy... she was letting him see inside her, and she was floundering.

There was something. Something he could do. Something she had asked him to do...

"Deanna," he sighed, taking a step toward her.

"It's so hot," she murmured, her voice a breathy moan, and she glanced down. A thrill went down her spine as she opened her palm and let the robe slide to her feet, and he couldn't have felt that thrill more clearly without holding his hand against her warm, smooth back. She was naked beneath.

That sight had, once upon a time, been very familiar to him. He knew he should look away, but he was finding it very difficult. She was beautiful, so very beautiful. She bent over to check the temperature of the water, then stopped the faucet with a touch and delicately lifted one foot, touching a toe to it. It was cool.

Riker released a small pleading sound, reaching for the closure of his uniform. It would feel so good, and Deanna released a soft pleased moan as she stepped fully into the tub. When she lost her footing slightly, he reached for her; his knee bumped against the side of the tub as he wavered, but at the contact of their skin, damp and hot, he felt her.

"I'm sorry. I..."

Every interaction they had had so far, as ship's counselor and first officer, had been courteous and professional. Every audible one. No one else knew that he could hear the silent laughter in her musical voice, her expression composed and impassive, when they were in briefing meetings and she was amused by something one of their co-workers said. No one else knew that Riker was paralyzed by the thought of handling this wrong.

It would never have worked, between them. He had made his peace with that. She was a Daughter of the Fifth House and she had responsibilities and her life wasn't her own; he wanted to be captain of a Starfleet vessel. Her destiny was on Betazed and his was among the stars.

But she was here, now.

It was like they had a second chance.

There had been no real closure for them; even though he had known that their relationship wasn't meant to be permanent, that hadn't kept him from falling wholeheartedly in love with her, and she with him. He had been reassigned and it had been a relief, given how terrible things had been at the end, but a part of him had been left behind with her. He hadn't been able to say goodbye to her. A single word, a simple word, to close the door. It was the slightest excuse.

And she had never, _never_ loved anyone the way she had loved him. He saw it, then, in her; she had been willing enough to share her laughter, the surface thoughts, but beneath he could feel it now, all he had dreaded might still be true for her. She had given herself, shared herself with him in a way no one else ever had. In the blindness of their love she had let herself believe, briefly, that once they had been joined so completely, despite physical separation and the years and his fear, that they would never permanently part. But they had, and he had been gone.

They were _imzadi._ Despite everything, despite her mother's disdain and her naiveté and his ambition, they were _imzadi_ , and he had walked away from it. He had found another piece of himself in her and walked away from it. He had tried to believe they would both be whole again, when neither of them could go back to who they had been before they had met.

Second chances were rare enough, but here, in this place... his ambitions hadn't changed. He would learn all he could and earn his own command, but shipboard romances were almost always a mistake, and if he hurt her again, if things ended badly and they had to force themselves to be cordial and—

It all passed in an eyeblink, the second his skin came into contact with hers. Everything he _knew_ , everything he was. Her fear was the same.

But it was distant, and it had nothing to do with what he wanted, what he had needed. She balanced him. She made him whole. And he could help her. Her walls were down, and she had never let anyone beyond them the way she had let him.

She turned to him, her lips slightly parted, her lashes low. _Free_. She wanted to be free and they just kept pretending, kept hoping that if they ignored it for long enough they could just pick up where they had left off if they so chose...

And the years spiraled out before them. Ignore it, ignore it, seal it up tight and hope that it would not change, that if they ever decided to give in to that passion again, they could control it. Pretend his heart didn't beat faster when she entered a room, when her gaze met his. Control it.

But that was the opposite of who and what they were to each other. With her, he had finally, completely felt free. She had understood, for the first time, through him. What she had been told to be, what she was _supposed_ to be, didn't have to control her.

And what they were together, what they had been told was the right way to go about this—well, that didn't matter. Not when it came to them.

She sank into the water, her expression pleading, and it wasn't enough. _Free. Please._

It wasn't enough. A pool, an endless expanse of water, cool and alone and naked and—

Riker didn't remember taking his clothes off, but her gaze was fixed on him as he joined her in the tub. The water felt incredible against his flushed skin.

And when she rose to her knees, the water gleamed on her bared flesh, her breasts and arms. Why had he fought this for so long? The first night they had both been on the ship, why hadn't he just come to her and talked to her...

Because he was afraid and he couldn't be vulnerable, not around her and not around anyone else on the ship. He was first officer, and it was his job to be level-headed, to advise the captain and do his best to keep the ship and its crew out of danger. From everything he had learned about his new commander, rules were of the utmost importance.

Rules. Engineering. Something... something he needed to do. And then she had been standing there, her dark hair up, in her dark-grey uniform. Her voice low as she called him not by his rank or his last name, but by her nickname for him.

_Help me._

He didn't have the same kind of control over it that she had, but she had taught him, and when she moved toward him, he opened his mind to hers. The time between fell away.

She pressed herself against him.

There had been times, before, when he had known the intensity of his own emotions was too much for her, or that it was causing her additional distress—but while he could open himself to her, the lowered inebriation made it hard for him to hold anything back. She had spent a long time teaching him mental discipline, but he had also been just as eager to teach her the pleasures of the flesh, and how intense a physical connection could be.

As she had told him at the time, the fact that he had been her first physical sexual partner was incidental to their connection to each other, and he knew that she hadn't been chaste and untouchable after their parting. Nor had he.

But he had never found what he had with her, with anyone else, before or since. Nor had she.

_Deanna... imzadi..._

_You were gone, and I missed you so..._

The brush of his lips against hers ignited a spark far hotter than anything he had felt since the last time he had been in her arms. She ran her fingers through his hair and she slipped in, in that infinity behind his eyes, and it was familiar as breath.

She was open to everyone, bruised and tender, and he drew her into him.

And together, wrapped around each other, they drowned in it. They twisted, grinding against each other, seeking contact, and when they tipped into the water together, sending a splash over the lip of the tub and onto the floor, the cool water felt blissful against his flushed face. They surfaced, her fingers digging into his back and her legs wrapped around him, and he felt her moan before they sank beneath again.

 _Bill_...

She was insistent, desperate, as though at any moment they would be interrupted and they needed to take advantage of the time while they had it. But now, how could he let her go? How could he, when they fit like the interlacing of fingers on twinned hands, when parting from her was unimaginable.

Her skin was warmer than his, and he moved so she could bring only her head above the water, the rest of her submerged and twined around him as the cool liquid flowed between them both. When the bath was warmed by their bodies the computer automatically readjusted, and when he was cool and shivering she was still overheated. He pressed himself to her, her lips soft and sweet against his, drawing the heat and the panic and confusion in her into himself.

But it wasn't enough. When she felt him trembling, she pressed the drain control with her toe; it took a few times for her to press it firmly enough, but the water swiftly drained from the tub, leaving them both trembling.

"Computer," she ordered, her voice wavering a little as she panted. "Lower room temperature ten degrees."

"So warm," he agreed.

"Too warm."

He would never have done it while he was thinking straight, and he doubted he would have been able to maintain the control needed anyway. Just as she had been able to come into him, he followed the link back to her; he wasn't Betazoid like her, and her gift of empathy made it like moving in a shadowy room, where for him it was like moving in pitch-blackness. But the warmth and sweetness of her drew him in, surrounded him. With him to focus on, with his thoughts and emotions the most strident presence in her, she began to relax, slumping as their minds joined. It was like drawing her from the chaos of a mobbed streetcorner behind closed doors.

Warmth. Inside her body, inside her mind, was warmth, and he sought it. Joined as they were, the cup of his hand over her breast made both of them shiver, and he drew the rosy tip of her breast into his mouth, suckling against the warm pebbled flesh. She had once told him that with the right mental discipline, the lightest touch could be more erotic than any physical one, but the delight she felt at his touch was a bolt of pure joy. He fondled her other breast, slipping his hand between her thighs.

Her moan echoed through his mind before it reached her lips. _Yes, yes..._

Soon he was burning up again, despite the chill that lingered with the water as it was drawn from their skin. Her sex radiated warmth and he kissed and nuzzled against her breasts before he let her grind against him.

He knew what she wanted before she could put it in words.

When he pulled back to look into those dark limpid eyes she caught her breath and then they were both scrambling, climbing out of the tub. He didn't know if her musical laughter was in his mind or actually spoken; her fingers twined around his as they tumbled into her bed together. How strange, to feel the chill on his skin while his body felt like he was burning alive...

She caught her breath in a sharp gasp, opening to him as he moved between her parted legs. The fine curls between her legs were still wet, but the flesh was warm, and the tang of her arousal smelled faintly sweet—

And her sex tasted sweet as he stroked her with his tongue, finding the slick bundle of nerve endings that made her quiver and arch against him. In retaliation or in reward, he didn't know or care which, she reached inside his mind, finding a place that took his arousal from a pleasant hum to an insistent cry. Her fingers fisted in his hair as he teased and explored her, and her every whimper sent a shudder through him. They weren't joined as completely as they could be, but they were getting close, and everything in him wanted it, craved it, _needed_ it.

 _imzadi_...

He hadn't let himself realize how much he missed her and then it had all come crashing back.

Usually she was able to channel her arousal and desire, to draw it out or force it higher or bury it within her, but she couldn't hide what she wanted from him or control herself like this, and it was both terrifying and exhilarating. He slipped his fingers into that slick tender part of her and she writhed, whimpering in wordless pleas as the waves of her pleasure crashed over him.

She could go for hours. Hours like this, awash and drowning in pleasure, seeking _more, more_. And he had been the first to unlock that within her, the first to see her defenseless, lain bare.

It was incredible. And after that first time Riker had gained a genuine respect for her father, who had managed to survive what Riker was sure was an unforgettable experience, bonding with the formidable Lwaxana Troi. When they were like this, Deanna was all he could feel, all he knew, all he wanted, and to give her pleasure was to multiply his own. He had never been so completely subordinate, but to please her was to gain such, such joy in return.

He would gladly have kept eating her out until his fingers cramped and his tongue was numb, but her hips jerked one last time and she whimpered his name. When he felt her begin to drift, he pulled her mind back to his, panting, the sweet taste of her lingering on his tongue.

_Stay with me, beloved._

She blinked slowly up at him, and then she grasped his hip, pushing him onto his back. When she straddled him, her knees on either side of his hips, the starlight caught faint in the moisture still on her skin, the damp tendrils of her hair.

Hypospray. It was important...

And then she mounted him swiftly, and Riker let out his breath in a long pleased groan. He didn't care how warm her skin felt against his; he could burn alive if he just kept feeling this way. Her sex was slick and so incredibly hot as she enfolded him, taking his full length on her first thrust.

_Yes..._

_Yes, love._

As soon as she moved against him, he groaned again, tracing her porcelain skin. He gently pinched her nipples and she moaned too, and he no longer knew where he ended and where she began. Making love with her had always been an unbelievably sensual act, because with him she didn't hold herself back, didn't run what she was doing through the filter of decorous behavior—the way she had behaved since they had met again, the way he had worried she would behave now.

_The—please._

He moved on the bed, touching the release on the drawer in her bedside table, and found what she wanted. He had seen a few on Risa, but he hadn't yet found an opportunity to try one out; this one, meant to stimulate human and humanoid females, had a neuroresponsive motor, and could be used with a partner or without.

Given how open and frank most Betazoids tended to be about their sexuality, he wasn't exactly shocked that she would own such a device or allow him to use it with her. But when he slipped it into place and it began to purr and growl to itself, stimulating that small bundle of nerves he had found and stroked with his tongue, he made sure his fingers were the last ones on it—and that gave him the ability to control it. All she had to do was touch it herself if she wished to take back that control, but instead she leaned over him, lacing her fingers through his as she rutted against him.

It felt incredible. She rode him with frantic, brutal thrusts and then he rolled over, pressing against her so that the device between them was seated more firmly against her, and he willed it to vibrate faster—and she cried out loudly at the pleasure, writhing against him. They rolled together and his lips grazed her shoulder, her collarbone; they rolled again, slamming together, and fell off the bed. She responded with a scream of pleasure that sent an answering shudder down his spine, and his next thrust was long and rough and drove her crazy.

He didn't know how long they were locked together that way. Several times he brought the vibration up to maximum and she thrashed and sobbed, arching and clawing at him, her voice in his mind burbling and golden-white with pleasure. At one point she was squatting over him; a moment later he was on his knees, gripping her hips as he drove into her. He didn't know when she reached into him and coaxed him to hold out a little longer, a little longer; he was shuddering, trembling with the strain, and the device was whining and jittering at its highest setting against her sex as she finally took pity on him, letting his control break. His release left him shuddering, panting, senseless and boneless against her. As he softened inside her, though, he took the vibration down and brought it back up several times, until she was sobbing in desperation, and all he could feel was her. He latched onto her breast and suckled hard, pinching her other nipple, and her shoulder jerked as she climaxed, bumping the leg of her desk.

She was still trembling, but the distant sound of something rolling off the desk and striking the rug—something. Hypospray. It felt cool when he picked it up, and when he ran the side against her pebbled nipple, Deanna moaned, still panting her breath back.

Hypospray.

"What," she murmured, and—it was worse now, the inebriation, the inability to think clearly. He had brought it for her; she was worse off, she...

He reached between her legs and peeled the stimulator from her, and she shuddered as he pulled it away. He put it on the desk, and there was a reason he shouldn't place the nozzle against her still-tender inner flesh and press the release...

He positioned the hypospray nozzle against her bare upper arm and pressed the release, and Deanna seemed to slump. "Oh," she murmured, reaching up and sweeping her dark curls off her cheeks. " _Oh_..."

Still naked and gleaming with sweat, Riker reached up and gave himself the same dose, and immediately the fever, the disorientation began to recede. Deanna was still sprawled on the floor of her quarters, naked and blinking slowly, and it wasn't that their joining lessened, but he could feel those ever-present walls begin to rise again, between her and everyone else.

Oh. Oh, what had he done? What had they done...

Riker ran a hand over his face, then rose to his knees and reached down to help her up. Deanna reached for the crumpled blanket at the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her, shivering. "Computer, make room temperature fifteen degrees warmer," she ordered.

_Deanna._

She gazed up at him with those familiar dark eyes, and though he could feel her nervousness, there was curiosity there too. He wasn't willing to regret what they had just done unless it had caused her pain or discomfort, but he didn't sense that it had.

Not physical pain, anyway. The next time they were in the briefing room together, though...

The ship. The captain. He— His hand slapped his bare chest, but didn't find his comm badge there. When he stood on slightly wobbly legs and went to the bathroom, he found that his uniform was damp with spilled bathwater, but not uncomfortably so. It was only when he was tapping his comm badge that he remembered he could have used her in-quarters comm controls—and though his presence in her quarters would have been noted by the ship's computer, using her comm would have been more obvious.

"Riker to Picard."

"Picard here." The captain's voice was crisp, almost overly so; Riker wasn't sure exactly how far the infection had progressed in him, but if Picard had lost as much control as Riker, he was sure the other man was feeling even sharper than usual.

"Status?"

"Medical teams are coordinating treatment efforts; according to Dr. Crusher, the efficacy of the cure would be reduced by simply filtering it through the environmental system. Any new crises to report?"

Riker looked at Deanna, who had pulled herself to her feet, the blanket still wrapped around her. Her dark eyes were gleaming. "Not at present, sir."

After reporting that he would return to the bridge after coordinating with the medical teams, Riker took a quick shower and dressed in his newly-dried uniform. When he emerged, the lights were still low, but brighter than they had been. She was dressed in that grey uniform again, her hair pulled back into a tight bun. Buttoned-up and locked down again.

She sighed when he said her name, and those walls weren't just against everyone else, now. A glowing PADD was in her hands. "I already have ten requests for counseling appointments," she reported, the hint of a smile on her lips. "I suppose the next few weeks might be rather busy."

The stimulator was out of sight; her bed was made. All was back in order, save the faint gleam of sweat that shone on the line of her graceful neck. The desire to taste her skin still remained, but the infection hadn't caused it; the inebriation had only eliminated all the barriers between.

Riker gave her a nod. "I suppose so," he said.

She had sounded politely professional, and so did he.

"It was... the infection," she murmured, and then gazed up at him. _Was it?_

"Yes," he agreed. _No._

But she didn't respond, and when he left her quarters, the hushed sound of the doors behind him felt like a dismissal.

\--

Three nights had passed, and it would have been amusing to him, how many crew members and officers were avoiding each other's eyes now—if he hadn't been among them. People had seen her come to him in Engineering, and he was self-conscious around her now. Riker wasn't sure what had happened between Data and Yar, but a part of him was faintly, morbidly curious. And, thanks to their connection those four days before, he was more sensitive to Deanna's moods now, and he to hers. Counseling so many distressed crew members had left her feeling exhausted and worn-out.

As though by mutual agreement, they hadn't discussed what had happened, and the longer it went, the less he found he wanted to.

It didn't mean he didn't dream about her.

He had just settled into bed when he felt her, like gentle fingertips against the edges of his mind. The mild taste of hot chocolate was on her tongue, and he could feel it too.

_imzadi..._

Riker closed his eyes. Sometimes a starship could feel infinite, but sometimes gossip could travel at similarly infinite speeds, and going to her quarters at this time of night... meant making a decision. Were they to begin a relationship, be it public or private, it would be known; by unspoken ship-wide decision, whatever had happened during the time they had all been infected, it was forgiven, if not quite entirely forgotten.

Once was a lapse in judgement, a mistake. Again...

 _I know_ , she projected to him. _It was... unexpected. And I would not wish to cause you shame._

 _It would not be shame,_ he projected back. But it was taking a step into unknown terrain, a step he wasn't sure he was ready to make.

_I understand._

He felt her begin to let him go, that soft warmth fading, and felt not relief but doubt. It was easy to tell himself that it had been a profound lapse in protocol and judgement and decorum and a thousand other things; to tell himself that their joining had only felt so intense because they had been inebriated, intoxicated.

It was easy to say the lie.

_Deanna..._

_My door is open,_ she replied. _When you're ready, Bill; if you ever are. But, in the meantime... I was about to use a certain Risian souvenir with which you might be familiar. One which is apparently still linked to you._

Riker felt a smile curve his lips. The mental image she sent him left him awash with arousal.

_How inconvenient for you._

_But a good compromise?_

_Oh yes,_ Riker replied, closing his eyes. Her gasp of pleasure sizzled against him as he took control of the stimulator, and he could feel the liquid arch of her back, the tilt of her naked hips as she responded to it.

It wasn't perfect. But he would take it, he decided, feeling her slip back inside his mind and he to hers, tight as clasped fingers.

He would take it. For now, anyway.


End file.
